


I Was Here First

by InsecurelyPerfect



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, There is a fight and it's kind of graphic but not entirely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8899198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsecurelyPerfect/pseuds/InsecurelyPerfect
Summary: In which our Founding Fathers are in a modern setting and rob banks.  They're rivals and get caught.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I enjoy posting my fricken homework assignments here? I do not know.  
> *there are no alterations to what I handed in. The teacher wanted real. I got 60/60 :)*

“Yes, mom, I promise I’ll call back later. For now, though, I have to go.” I hung up glancing at the clock, sighing. I had to move quickly if I wanted to do my job before Thomas fucking Jefferson beat me to it. He’s been beating me lately due to my mom calling me, and I refused to be beat any longer. I quickly dressed, in all black, grabbed my ski mask and duffle bag and ran to the nearest bank, seeing that the lights were on.  
I made sure the bank was closed an hour before I was going, so there was no way that it was no way it was a worker that was here. I thought it was weird, but I didn’t think too much of it. I still went in to get my “job” done. I refused to let Jefferson get the money from this one.  
Making my way to the vault of the bank, I noticed it had already been opened, yet I still thought nothing of it. I was confused, though, wondering how it got opened in the first place, Thomas not even crossing my mind, that was, until I saw him, stuffing stacks of money into his bag.  
“Thomas?! What the hell? Dude, this is my bank what do you think you’re doing?!”  
He froze, dropping his bag and facing me. “Alexander? Well, well, well. What are you doing here? Were the lights and open vault not enough of a hint that I was here?” he taunted. My jaw clenched, my hands balling into hard fists.  
“You know damn well why I’m here, asshole.” I glared at him, trying to refrain from getting into a fist fight with him. “You know, seeing as you’re here for the same reason I am doing my fucking job.”  
Thomas let out a hearty, taunting laugh and anger boiled in the pit of my stomach rising until it was a stubborn ball in my chest not moving even when I calmed myself down.  
“Really Alex? You don’t have another job? The only thing you do for money is rob banks? Do you know how utterly pathetic that is? Even I have a job outside of being a criminal.”  
“Then why do you steal? Because if you had half of a brain in that ridiculous head of yours, you would know that if your employer ever found out then you’d be fired. Plus, if you’re arrested, it’s nearly impossible to get another job.”  
Thomas removed his mask, shaking his head in disappointment, and walked over to me. I was paralyzed; couldn’t move a muscle. I was a statue with balled fists and a clenched jaw, really ready to punch someone -- namely my rival thief, who stood seven feet in front of me. I didn’t know what Thomas was going to do, but I was already preparing to stop him.  
With a swift move and an accurate dodge, as if he knew I was going to throw a punch, he ended up behind me, hands on my shoulders, hot breath leaking through my mask and into my ear, resulting in a shiver down my back.  
I couldn’t see what he was doing, and I didn’t like that I couldn’t see what he was doing. The smug bastard knew I’d be helpless, so he ripped off my mask so both of our faces were revealed. He went back picked up his mask and carelessly threw both of them to the other side of the vault. If Jefferson wasn’t so strong, and if I didn’t know he could knock me out faster than someone could dial 9-1-1, I would’ve made a break to hurt him by now -- but I did know (with personal experience), so I didn’t test him.  
“What do you want? You’ve beaten me to all of the heists this past month. What more could you possibly want? Why can’t you just let me have the bank I live near?”  
Thomas grinned, yet again filling his bag with fat stack of money. “Because the satisfaction of knowing I beat you is a greater reward than the actual money itself. I love seeing you angry and sweaty pissed off at me. You’re weak, Alexander and I’m a better thief than you; just accept it.”  
Those words hit me like a truck. My jaw dropped, my hands relaxed, my shoulders weren’t tense anymore, and tears formed in my eyes like a pool that had been overfilled just enough that if someone jumped in the water would spill everywhere. I just had to keep my eyes open and gaze down and Thomas would never truly know just how much he actually hurt me.  
Thomas Jefferson was one of those people who had spent his entire life insecure and been taunting kids since second grade and knew exactly which buttons to press and just how much to hurt you just enough -- no matter how tough you thought you were. I brought my legs closer together and regained my posture, ignoring Thomas and his protests. Silently biting my lip and shaking, I went for my ski mask and re-covered my face.  
Sure Thomas was going to make a move to stop me so I carefully wasn’t close to him when I started taking the money.  
“Alexander! What do you think you’re doing?!” I silently turned to him and brought the money to my nose, sniffing it and dropping it into my bag and calmly said, “Stealing your money, Jefferson.” Apparently I had found his weak spot and he lunged at me, punching me square in the jaw.  
The force backing him up sent me flying straight into the wall. I gripped my chin, shaking it off as though he had only tapped my shoulder and swiftly brought my knee to his stomach, sending him in a groaning mess on the floor, clutching his abdomen. While Thomas was on the ground, I took the opportunity to continue with filling my bag up.  
When he finally gained his breath back, he muttered, “You will pay for that, asshole.”  
I winked, pulling a couple of bills from the stack I was holding and threw them on top of Jefferson. “Yes I will.”

He placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed down, making me fall to my knees keeping me in place. “You won’t get away with this.”  
“Oh really? Because if I’m caught you will be too. You know why? Because how else would you know who I am, who I was, or that I would be here, you know, seeing as I’m not exactly headline news, and with what I was doing. Besides if I go down, I’m taking you with me.”  
Thomas threw me to the side in a fit of anger and I scrambled to my feet trying to get more money and leave. My back was turned and Thomas kicked me in the back of the knee sending me back on the ground.  
“What is your problem?!” I cried, trying to stand up.  
“You.”  
I let out a scream, punching his nose and I heard a crack. Thomas fumbled to clean up his blood and keep it from getting on anything as he gathered his belongings to leave. We both managed to get the rest of our “findings” without fighting any longer and walked out the door, only to find the police and a terrified skinny teen talking to a hard, angry woman, who looked ready to kill.  
Thomas and I had both known the process like the backs of our hands. We sighed, dropping our bags, removing our masks, putting our hands behind our heads, and turning around so they could find any weapons we may or may not have been carrying around. The entire procedure I was whispering, “I hate you,” at a loud enough volume that only Thomas and the officers dealing with us heard.  
They both shot questioning looks in my direction. “Not you; it’s directed at him,” I muttered, nodding my head once in Thomas’ direction. The officers nodded absent mindedly and continued getting our prints, any evidence, telling us our rights, checking for possible weapons, and getting out their handcuffs.  
Cool metal made contact with my wrists and fairly tightly. I winced not expecting the feeling. “Too tight?” the officer asked. I nodded slightly, since it was the truth. He pulled out a key a unlocked them and fixed the tightness, this time to a much better feeling.  
They shoved the two of us in the back of their police car, a bunch of them leaving with us and a few staying behind to talk to who I could only assume to be the manager and the worker who called in the robbery.  
I must admit that in being a thief that was my fault. Most of this was on Thomas though for actually getting us arrested. If it had only been me I would not have so careless as to getting caught.  
When two guys, one of them being 6’2, are shoved into a tight backseat together, there will be knee bumps, glares, and swears. Even more so with the complaints and blames.  
“Thomas, this is all your fault,” I muttered.  
“How the hell is this my fault? We’re both at fault here! Don’t you blame me only when the both of us are thieves dickshit!”

The cop in the passenger seat turned back to us. “Okay what is going on between you two? You have been non stop bickering with each other like an old married couple all night. What gives?”  
Thomas, unable to jab a thumb at me, jerked his chin at me. “He broke my nose.” I snorted at his bluntness. He shot a glare my way.  
“We don’t get along. Never have. Always been on two different pages and marched to the beat of our own drums while accomplishing the same jobs.”  
The cop turned around in his seat for a minute before yet again turning back to Thomas and I. “So, Mr. Hamilton, why are you blaming Mr. Jefferson for your being arrested?”  
I rolled my eyes starting to get annoyed with this cop. “Jesus Christ, what is this? A therapeutic session? Because I’m pretty sure handcuffs are only used in two places; arrests and the bedroom. Seeing as therapy isn’t one of those options, I don’t have to open up and I’m not going to.” I huffed and leaned back into my seat.  
“Okay, Mr. Sassypants, I’m just trying to understand how both of you hate each other this much.”  
“Well I don’t know either. There’s just something about Thomas that makes me want to punch him every time I see him.”  
“Oh well why don’t you--” I mentally cut the cop off, not wanting to hear anything else from him. He seemed to think he knew everything and he was the smartest in the room. I knew I didn’t know everything but I did know three things: this cop was wrong this was Thomas Jefferson’s fault and that my girlfriend, Eliza, was going to kill me.

~JAIL~

My hate filled thoughts at Thomas hadn’t stopped but they were kept quiet until we were put in our cells. We were placed in the same cell so I had to really try not to kill the bastard and avoid more time but I stopped the silence of my thoughts and I outwardly voiced them.  
“Honestly I think I’d rather for George King III. Dude’s insufferable and overly British and sobby but at least I’m not too close to him that I’d rather kill myself like when I’m around you.”  
“Jesus Christ, Hamilton, do you ever shut the hell up? Because if you don’t there will be an inevitable death. Whether that death is mine or yours, I do not know but one thing’s for certain; a death will happen if you don’t stop talking, so I hope for both our sakes you decide to shut up.”  
“Feeling’s mutual,” I muttered leaning my head against the wall.  
We were both silent for a long time. I glared at him, trying to get into his head and understand what he was thinking. Jefferson’s just too hard to crack. He’s like me; reserved, knows how to hide his emotions -- just better than I can or know how to. I may hate him with a burning passion, but I must admit that I admired that part about him. I was jealous. 

We stood like that until the guard came.  
“Mr. Hamilton, you have a visitor -- let’s go.” She gripped my arm tightly and pulled me along to the visitor’s room. My heart broke at the sight I was faced with. Eliza was there with many tissues strewn across the table and a red nose while Peggy rubbed her back tenderly. I shakingly made my way over to her as if I were a shy kid at a school dance about to ask the pretty girl to dance and unsteadily.  
“What the hell is your problem?! You must be out of your goddamn mind! I leave you alone for one night -- one night Alexander -- and you go and get yourself arrested! And with Thomas?! How could you let this happen?!” Eliza took a second to let out a sob and wiped her tears while Peggy continued rubbing her sister’s back soothingly. “You know what? Don’t answer that yet; I’m not ready to hear the answer. Did you know Angelica is currently with our father trying to convince him you’re usually not like this and to keep his approval on you and to bail you out? Jesus, Alex, how could you?”  
I couldn’t even begin to comprehend her anger -- let alone meet her eyes. I played with my fingers, ashamed of doing this to the sweetest girls I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.  
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”  
My head snapped up. I met her blue eyes. They were vibrant and looked like a cleared ocean and bloodshot. Tears were drowning her eyes. I don’t know why but I searched her eyes. She wore a hard look impossible to understand. Elizabeth Schuyler was pissed at me. That was the only conclusion I could draw.  
“Do you”  
“Do I what?”  
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”  
“It was Jefferson’s f--”  
“Alexander Hamilton! Don’t you fucking dare blame Thomas! You were the one who did something illegal and got caught. You are the one in jail. This is on you. God, if you can’t own up to your actions then we’re done until you’re out of here so we can discuss this as adults, because I refuse to talk with you about this if you’re going to be childish about it, Alex.” She stood up and Peggy followed in her sister’s footsteps. They started walking away but Eliza turned around looking me in the eye.  
“Goodbye, Alexander.”


End file.
